Infinitely Losing My Edge
Yeah, I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
The kids are coming up from behind.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge to the kids from Angola and from Manchester.
But I was there.
I was there in 1965.
I was there at the first Beefheart show in Lancaster.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge to the kids whose footsteps I hear when they get on the decks.
I'm losing my edge to the internet seekers who can tell me every member of every good group from 1961 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Seoul and Woodstock.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Delhi kids in little jackets and borrowed nostalgia for the unremembered nineties.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
I can hear the footsteps every night on the decks.
But I was there.
I was there in 1980 at the first Cybotron practice in a loft in Detroit.
I was working on the organ sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald started up his first band.
I told him, "Don't do it that way. You'll never make a dime."
I was there.
I was the first guy playing The New Christs to the electroclash kids.
I played it at Trash.
Everybody thought I was crazy.
We all know.
I was there.
I was there.
I've never been wrong.
But I'm losing my edge to better-looking people with better ideas and more talent.
And they're actually really, really nice.
I'm losing my edge.
I heard you have a compilation of every good song ever done by anybody.
Every great song by Porter Ricks. All the underground hits.
All John Foxx tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Absolute Body Control record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a R.M.O. record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Alton Ellis,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Echospace,
China Crisis,
Make Up,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Grauzone,
Crispian St. Peters,
Cheater Slicks,
Severed Heads,
John Cale,
Funky Four + One,
Livin' Joy,
Bobby Byrd,
The Gladiators,
B.T. Express,
The Mojo Men,
Aswad,
June of 44,
X-Ray Spex,
Rosa Yemen,
Index,
The Martian,
Lee Hazlewood,
Harry Pussy,
Popol Vuh,
CMW,
Sexual Harrassment,
D'Angelo,
The Blues Magoos,
Yaz,
Roxy Music,
Wally Richardson,
Minor Threat,
Dead Boys,
Steve Hackett,
Infiniti,
New Age Steppers,
Eric Dolphy,
Hashim,
Maurizio,
Quando Quango,
X-101,
Tears for Fears,
The Offenders,
JFA,
Rhythm & Sound,
John Holt,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Goldenarms,
Silicon Teens,
Albert Ayler,
Terry Callier,
Fear,
The J.B.'s,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
Mantronix,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
T. Rex,
Porter Ricks, Porter Ricks, Porter Ricks, Porter Ricks.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.